Angle of Deviation
by CayStar
Summary: What I heard and witnessed terrified me, yet drew me in so irrevocably, I feared I would never escape. Then again, maybe I didn't want to. Written for the Red Eyed Edward contest. Judge's award. E/J Vampslash- complete


**Red Eyed Edward Contest**

 **Title** : Angle of Deviation

 **Penname:** CayStar **  
Beta:** GeezerWench

 **Pairing:** Edward/Jasper

 **Word Count:** 4460 **  
Rating:** M **  
Summary:** What I heard and witnessed terrified me, yet drew me in so irrevocably, I feared I would never escape. Then again, maybe I didn't want to.

 _Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended._

 _ **AN: This was written for the Red Eyed Edward contest, where basically Edward had to have red eyes at some point. Y'all know I love my human drinkers, and this gave me a chance to do a vamp Edward/Jasper, something I hadn't attempted before. My story was chosen for a judges award by LovelyBrutal, so big thanks for that!**_

 _ **I want to take a minute and thank my amazing beta, GeezerWench. Even though slash isn't necessarily her favorite thing, Rickie really helped me out with this story, giving me tips and direction to really push this story to the next level. Thank darlin- I couldn't have done it without you!**_

 _ **This is basically one long, complicated lemon, but it does have a little plot thrown in as well. Hope you enjoy it!**_

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 _ **Angle of Deviation**_

 _Philadelphia, 1948_

The afternoon showers have finally ceased, leaving the city damp, and somehow even dirtier than before the rain began. Puddles turn the streets and sidewalks into an elaborate obstacle course designed to frustrate even the most composed gentleman.

Humans mistake me for just such a gentleman as I take my evening stroll, carefully avoiding the last traces of sunlight glinting off the grimy windows and those infernal puddles.

I make a game of tipping my hat to the ladies, while mentally tabulating their degrees of flavor, some barely discernible over the greasy smells emanating from the nearby diner. The plump matron has a mild fishy odor, while her petite daughter would only whet my appetite with her slightly more appealing tart green apple.

A cross breeze brings a new scent to my nose, and I begin to hunt without making a conscious decision to do so. My shoes move silently over the wet pavement despite my careless inattention to what lies between me and the new object of my desire. I am at the mouth of the alley before I see you, before I _hear_ you.

Your thoughts draw me closer, reeling me in inch by inch, forcing me to subdue my instincts—the instincts that tell me to run as far away from you as I can get. Unlike anyone I've ever met, you don't think in words, in sentences. You think in pictures—in glorious moving scenes complete with sound and color more vibrant than anything the humans can duplicate in Hollywood.

Your mind is a swirling tempest of images, colors, sights, and sounds. But the most intriguing aspect of your thoughts is the _emotion_ behind it all. Fury, hunger, bloodlust—both the kind sated by human blood and the one that craves mayhem, murder, and destruction. You are a whirling dervish, spinning faster and faster, higher and tighter, until I know you are right at the brink of destruction.

I creep closer, taking care to remain upwind from you, the most deadly predator I have ever laid eyes on. I silently scale the nearest building to have the best view of a master at work.

Your target is clear—I have no trouble reading _his_ thoughts—and I feel an unfamiliar smile stretch the marble planes of my face as I watch you move into position.

I hear no footsteps from you—only the soft drips of leftover rainwater and the harsher sounds of your human's heartbeat and breathing. Your silent stride is smooth, sure, the rolling gait of a stealthy jungle cat. You are deadly, you are... _beautiful_.

I pause for a moment to evaluate my thoughts, wondering if it only your honey blond hair that draws my eye, or your long, lean body. While I cannot deny your vague similarity to my estranged sire, you are two very opposing sides of the coin. He is light, life, fresh air. You are the darkest night, violent death, and the provocative scent of blood and fear. You stir feelings in me that he could never begin to touch. My want for him is nebulous, theoretical. You are lust, _need_ —a desire so strong I can almost taste it.

As if I spoke aloud, you raise your eyes and seek me out. I freeze, wondering if I should run, but I am helplessly, hopelessly trapped in your midnight gaze. Your face is clearer to me now, and I lean forward as my eyes trace the scars that litter your skin, stirring a deep anger toward those who have hurt you. I want to bite, rip, and tear in retribution for those wounds. _How dare they_?

The night breeze ruffles your hair, and I stand transfixed as you absently brush away an errant curl. In another world, with your golden waves and beatific face, you could be an angel. You _are_ an angel—an angel of death. When the edges of your mouth tilt up the barest fraction, I feel myself relax a bit. You won't kill me—not at this time, at least. You raise your chin a notch as if in silent acknowledgement of my assessment, and I begin to wonder if you possess a gift somehow similar to my own.

A movement to your left draws both our attention, and I turn my head to see that your prey has lured one of his own into his slimy web. My unnecessary breath catches in my chest when you look back my way and toss me a wink over your shoulder as you resume your prowl.

The humans don't notice your approach as you slide up silently behind the stocky male and rest your beautifully scarred hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me," you murmur quietly, though the sound of your voice resonates in my skull, seeping into the very marrow of my bones and igniting a burn deep in my belly. Your voice is the most enticing sound I've ever heard.

"Get lost," the ignorant human shoots back harshly, vainly attempting to shake off your iron grip. "We're busy here."

My toes curl at the sight of your feral grin, white teeth gleaming brightly in the dimly-lit alleyway. I watch your hand tighten slowly until the ill-mannered bastard finally turns to look at you. "I said, get–"

He can't get another word out before you crush his voice box with the slightest twist of your fingers, and the artful precision of your quick strike is admirable. You force him to his knees with a patience I did not expect, and pat the top of his balding head gently—like a child.

When you turn to the trembling woman, I have an awful moment of doubt when I wonder if you will allow her to escape. Do you have a misguided hero complex—like that silly comic, _Superman_? It is such a human ideology.

Uncomfortable tendrils of jealousy creep in when you reach for her hand and pull her closer, but you glance back at me with an unreadable expression, and I catch a mental flash of the two of us sharing a _meal_ that piques my interest and soothes both my worries. To my astonishment, the woman faints suddenly, and you leave her slumped there where she dropped.

With her out of the way, you step back in front of the sobbing excuse for a human male and lift him up by his shirt collar. His mouth gapes uselessly as he mentally pleads for his life, but you give no other indication that you can hear him, and I wonder once more what your gift might be—if you even have one. Your lazy drawl catches me off guard.

"You know they say curiosity killed the cat..."

I can't help but finish the thought—my mouth has gotten me in trouble more than once before. My tone can't be interpreted as anything but seductive as I quietly hiss, "Yes, but _satisfaction_ brought it back."

You look pleased, but offer me no reply, mental or otherwise. Your thoughts hone in on your prey, images tinted red with anticipation and thirst. I feel my own eyes darken in response, and I lean forward, impatient for the show that I know you will give me.

The human freezes in absolute terror when you slowly run the tip of your nose along the rapidly pulsing artery in his neck. Your appreciative moan is almost obscene, and I have to reach down and press my palm against my growing erection in an attempt to shift it to a more comfortable position. I cannot remember a time when I have ever been quite this aroused.

For the first time in my undead life, I find it incredibly easy to tune out the deluge of mental voices that constantly surround me. Even the struggling human in your grasp is a mere buzz in the background. Your thoughts have me captivated. As your pale pink tongue peeks out to trace that life-giving vein, your mind dances with tantalizing images of carnage.

I see you pillaging an entire town, tearing the insignificant humans limb from limb, literally bathing in their flowing blood until it completely covers you. Your golden hair is stained a deep crimson, and that same stubborn curl hangs down over your left eye, dripping delectable drops of the finest red down your sculpted cheek.

Abruptly the scene takes on a different feel. I suppress a growl as I try to tamp down on the jealousy coursing through me. I watch you taking another male vampire—a tall blond, from what I can tell. He cries out in pure ecstasy as you wrest your pleasure from his all-too-willing body, even as he is forcefully thrusting into a faceless female. That part of the image is hazy enough that I cannot even tell if the woman is human or immortal.

A sense of excitement fills your mind as you glance around, never slowing your sensual movements. I can see that you are surrounded by more scar-covered vampires—soldiers, perhaps? They rub their nude bodies against you, writhing and moaning in absolute pleasure while your hips rock steadily against that one incredibly lucky male. I do gain my first clue to your identity as they all refer to you as their _Major_.

A sudden change gives the picture a dreamlike quality, and I cannot contain a moan. The man beneath you has morphed from the previous blond to my own face. I can almost feel your hands tangling in my unruly bronze hair, and I cry out in want, returning sharply to the present.

You cock your eyebrow as soon as I look your way, and I realize you are nearly finished with your meal. The human dangles limply in your arms, his bones crushed and his throat almost completely ripped out. My eyes drift down the line of your back, drawn to the rhythmic twirling of your still-clothed hips against the cooling body.

As soon as his heart stops, you toss him to the side and turn to face me fully. "You comin' down here, boy? We can share dessert."

I am moving before I can stop myself, leaping off the building and down into that dank, dark alley that could lead to paradise. The gas street lights are on, though I never heard the lamplighter—lost as I was in the midst of your vivid memories. I can't help but admire the way the warm light reflects off a nearby puddle, illuminating your lustrous golden curls.

I approach you slowly, trying my best to appear submissive in the face of your incontrovertible dominance. Your smile seems approving, and you scoop up the unconscious woman before closing the final few steps between us.

If I thought you were gorgeous at a distance, you are indescribable up close. Blood still stains your full lips, begging me to lick them clean. I don't realize how close I'm leaning until I feel your breath against my skin, and my eyes shoot back up to yours in fear.

Despite your meal, your eyes are dark—nearly black—and I worry that I may have been too presumptuous. Just because you fantasized about me does not mean you want to act on it—to fulfill my own fantasies.

Self-doubt fills me as I study the wet, filthy ground beneath your blood-splattered cowboy boots. What was I thinking? You could never want someone like me. I'm not a strong, fierce vampire. I have never once even bitten another immortal, and I can smell freshly spilled venom on you even now!

"Boy, whatever the hell you're thinkin', just stop. That look don't suit ya."

I am startled when you reach out and nudge my chin up, your face even closer to mine than it was before. Your eyes are sparkling with humor as you size me up, and I am taken aback by the way you see me in your mind. You admire my strong jaw and smile at my crazy hair. Your eyes trace my smooth skin, so different from your own. You think I'm...you think I'm _beautiful_?

I gasp in shock when you playfully swipe your tongue over my parted lips, pulling back with a grin as you lift the woman up in offering. As if you can sense my hesitation, you run your fingernail along that tempting slender neck, creating a trickle of irresistibly fresh, clean _blood_. I never take my eyes off yours as I lower my face and bite down.

You wait until I swallow, then join me as well. The experience is almost euphoric, and my senses—all six of them—are overloaded. The blood is some of the sweetest I have ever tasted, made impossibly sweeter by the sight of your eyes boring into mine as we drink together. In your mind I see your pleasure—I swear I can _feel_ it—and your pride in being the one to offer me sustenance. If I thought I was hard before, it has nothing on the way I feel now.

I don't realize I have been moving—rubbing myself against the woman's warm, soft belly—until your hand comes to rest on my hip. You shake your head slightly when I look at you with curiosity, and I moan at the things you are picturing now. The battle scene from before has been replaced by a dark alley— _this_ dark alley—and I am pushed up against the crumbling bricks with you pressed firmly against my back, your sinful mouth at my ear.

The sensations you imagine are ones I have no first-hand experience with, but I can almost _feel_ the pressure as you wrap your hand around me from behind, while your heavy manhood fills me completely. I stare right back at you, trying to convey with my eyes my willingness to see that vision to completion, and your low growl is like a runner's starting pistol as soon as the human runs dry.

I barely have time to pull my teeth from the woman's body before you toss her aside and you are _there_. You are right in front of me, pulling me close to you as you lower your head and cover my lips with yours. An embarrassing whimper escapes me as I taste you for the first time. Your tongue is insistent against mine, coaxing me into returning your ardor. I happily comply, clumsily copying your movements and hopefully masking my inexperience with enthusiasm.

Your left hand tugs sharply on my hair and your right drifts down to slip inside the back of my trousers, pulling my hips tightly against yours. I can feel your hardness brushing against mine, and I work to press myself tighter to you, chasing the feeling of nirvana I have only ever experienced second-hand.

I am panting wildly when your mouth leaves mine, and you cup my face gently— _tenderly_ —urging me to open my eyes. My face fills your thoughts, along with a strange sense of protective gratitude, and I look at you inquisitively to see why you stopped.

"This is all new to you, ain't it boy?"

If my heart was still beating I would be flushed the color of a ripe tomato. As it is, I am sure you can practically _feel_ the mortification oozing out of me.

I rest my forehead on your shoulder, unable to bear seeing you mock me. My nod is a mere brush of my skin on your shirt, but you feel it just the same. What surprises me is your reaction. Your hand moves up my back, rubbing soothing patterns on the bare skin under my shirt.

The hand that was gripping my hair moves down to my neck—something that should terrify me, but I feel strangely at peace submitting to your will. Even if you do kill me, I will die a happy man. It would be nice to find my release first though...

"Shh, boy. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. We all gotta start somewhere," you murmur quietly in my ear as you press a soft kiss to my hair. "I kinda like havin' ya all to myself."

Your words give me a spark of hope, and I tentatively raise my head to look into your eyes. The soft red isn't judging me, but your scars distract me when I go to kiss you again. I press my lips to one just beneath your left eye, proud when you groan softly in pleasure. In your mind I see a flash of memory of the time when you received that scar—the scrape of the female's nails and the hatred in her eyes as she spit her venom on your broken skin. I want to kill her.

Determined to drive the harridan from your mind, I wrap my arms around you and lay siege to your mouth once more. You only allow me to take control for a moment or two, and then you spin us around and press my back to the wall.

Your hands fly through the buttons on my shirt, slipping each one from its hole with ease. I tense briefly when you reach for my belt, but you distract me with your mouth and I give in with no further protest. In seconds I am completely bare to you, exposed right there in the middle of the city with only the night and threat of more thunderstorms to protect us from prying human eyes. The thrill of potential discovery only increases my arousal, and I shiver in anticipation as you take a step back to look me over.

Your rough hand coasts over the smooth planes of my chest, teasing a nipple, tracing my ribs and skirting past my hipbone. It's incredibly erotic to stand there nude while you observe me fully clothed—I have never felt more vulnerable.

"Turn around," you order quietly.

Well, I have never felt more vulnerable until _now..._

I take a deep breath and turn to face the bricks, resting my hands tentatively on the wall as I move my feet back enough that my prick will not hit the masonry. While it probably would not hurt me, it does not sound all that pleasant either.

Once I get myself situated, I glance back at you over my shoulder. Your eyes are dark and you stride forward quickly, laying yourself over my back and reaching down to stroke me just as you had imagined.

"You're a damn natural, boy! Don't even know how fuckin' sexy you look offerin' your ass to me like that. _Damn!_ "

I shiver at the need in your voice, thrusting helplessly into your hand.

I jump in surprise when a wet finger begins to circle my hole, but you tighten your grip on me and twist your hand a bit, and I relax enough for your finger to slip in easily. You take your time stretching me, moving two fingers inside me, and then three, until you finally touch something inside me that has me gasping as I spill all over your hand and the wall in front of me.

I hear you fumbling with your pants, and your hands leave me for a moment as you cover your own hard member with my slick release. I groan as you bring your fingers up to taste me; the mental sensations you project have me hard and aching again almost instantly.

I am shaking with anticipation when you wrap one arm across my chest and begin to push inside me. The pain I expected never comes—thanks to your careful preparations—and I choke back a sob of pleasure when your hips are finally flush against me. You rest there for a minute, your forehead between my shoulders, and I feel the barest brush of your lips against my skin.

I shiver as your mental tone changes, and a sense of urgency and need takes over your thoughts. You clutch at my hip as a bit of a warning, before you pull almost all the way out of me. The loss I feel is nearly unbearable, but you snap your hips forward and slam back into me in one smooth stroke.

As you pound into me over and over, I feel myself begin to unravel. You draw me in—as deeply as my body draws you in. Your thoughts are consumed with me—with my face, my body, even the smell of my hair. I have never felt closer to someone, and I have never felt so _known_.

I feel my release drawing closer even as you approach yours. You growl deeply as you thrust faster and faster, and I snarl in response to your rising lust. You picture yourself biting into my neck, leaving a permanent mark behind, claiming me as your own for all to see. I hear your intense desire, just how badly you crave this, and I can do nothing but answer you.

"Do it," I hiss, arching my neck up toward your mouth. _"Bite me!"_

You immediately comply, and I cry out at the combined force of your teeth in my neck, your hand on my prick, your body filling mine, and the all-consuming ecstasy in your mind as you find your own release.

I swear I black out from the pleasure, only returning to earth when I feel your tongue soothing your bite and your hand softly stroking me through the last few pleasant shudders.

Instead of pulling out of me like I thought you would, you press me forward, wrapping your arm back around my chest to support us both. Your head rests on my shoulder, and I shiver as your sweet breath washes over my face with each shaky exhale. I feel proud that I was able to affect you as much as you have me.

"Cocky little shit, ain't ya?" you chuckle quietly. "But with a gift like that I guess you've got reason to be." _Can you read my mind?_

I jerk my head up in surprise as your mental voice comes through clearly for the first time. Not sure how you will react, I nod slowly—cautiously—in response.

Your smile sets me at ease, and you run your tongue over your mark, soothing me even more.

"Thought that might be it. Don't worry—if you didn't run screaming after seeing what's in my head then you're tougher than you look. Besides, I can feel your emotions so I guess we're sorta even."

I try to process that revelation, but you have already moved on. You slip from my body, leaving me instantly bereft, and I have to make do with a slap on my rear and a smacking kiss on the cheek. You toss me my clothes, and then fasten your pants with a practiced efficiency that makes me instantly jealous.

Trying to suppress that emotion is an effort in futility, but I pull out a handkerchief to clean myself up as best I can and pull my clothes back on. You have gathered up the remains of our meals and walked deeper into the alley, and I hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to follow.

"Boy! Give me a hand here, will ya?"

Unable to stop my smile, I dart over to you only to stop short at what I see. Along with the two humans, there are twitching, dismembered vampire parts. The clothing is feminine, but the face is androgynous and the inky hair is extremely short. The wide black eyes look at me in shocked recognition, but it is hard to understand her thoughts while her head is detached from her body.

"Check my back pocket for a book of matches, will ya?"

I immediately comply, more than happy to touch you again. I debate whether or not to ask you about the vampire you are preparing to destroy, but you sigh and catch my eye, showing me a meeting that took place this afternoon.

 _You duck into a diner, irritated by the sudden downpour, only to have your defenses rise at the scent of another immortal. The girl hops down from a barstool, full of possessive and disapproving emotions. The lust that runs as a constant undercurrent is undermined by the disgust she feels for you._

 _"You've kept me waiting a long time," she says, holding her hand out as if you should offer your arm. "Let's go! I can't wait to introduce you to our new family and teach you how to hunt animals, and we'll have a beautiful spring wedding with white daisies and yellow daffodils!"_

 _Glancing at the humans, you don't notice any undue interest—except from the man who would end up in this same alley. He stares at the girl with undisguised want and regards you with deep suspicion. He has seen too much._

 _Leading the mentally unstable vampire out the door, you pretend to accompany her until you round the corner and are out of sight. Moving faster than a cobra strike, you have her at the end of the alley and decapitated in seconds. "I'll never let no tiny black-haired bitch order me around again," you growl, making short work of removing her limbs and spreading them around the piles of garbage that littered the way._

I hand you the matches, softly stroking your tense fingers as your mind bounces between the imp in the diner and another vampiress—the one who scarred you. I can tell that you feel like you are destroying them both, and I stand by your side as you strike the match, mesmerized as we watch it fall.

We don't speak as the flames burn—all three bodies disintegrating into ash before our eyes. When your flashbacks seem too painful, I reach out and grasp your hand, lending you my quiet support. Time seems to pause as we keep watch over our fire, and I cling to these last few precious moments with you.

When the smoke clears you heave a sigh of relief and turn to me with a smile. "So where do ya wanna go now, boy? I've been hankerin' to see New York myself."

I cannot answer at first, unsure if I am understanding you. You squeeze my hand and tug me forward. "Come on, we can have another round back at my hotel room. We'll just have to be a little more careful there."

There is no misunderstanding _that_ and I gape at you, my hope bubbling up into my throat. "You mean, you want me to come with you? Stay with you?" I hate that I sound like an insecure boy—but that _is_ what you keep calling me. That reminds me– "I'm Edward Masen, by the way."

You smile again, wrapping your arm around my neck in a friendly gesture. You do not offer your own name but I am no longer worried—you will tell me eventually. Your mental voice says what you cannot, _You're mine, Edward._

That I am, and I think you just might be mine, too.


End file.
